


Future

by DrakonNightengale



Series: Tom's Trauma [2]
Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Alcoholism, Gen, Nothing explicit, Past Character Death, Porn Addiction, Referenced Childhood Abuse, Referenced Trauma, Slight Ableism, Smoking, Therapy, mental health, referenced CSA
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:01:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27642482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrakonNightengale/pseuds/DrakonNightengale
Summary: “Tom, we need to talk.”Nothing could have prepared him for Tord to come in and talk so urgently.--Sequel to History.
Relationships: Tom & Tord (Eddsworld)
Series: Tom's Trauma [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2021132
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19





	1. Ultimatum

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Resurrection_3D](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Resurrection_3D/gifts).



> So, History got really popular, and this was designed with the idea that I can't just give a character trauma and be done with it. So here you go.
> 
> Thank you, Drake, for I would never have done this if I never met ya. You're a source of inspiration for me, and maybe this can be a fic you'll enjoy.
> 
> If you don't mind the wait on chapters.

“Tom, we need to talk.”

Those words sat heavy in the man’s gut, wrenching him from the television on that hot summer morning. It was far too humid, and everything pointed to a downpour soon in England. His hair was sticky with sweat even with the cold shower he had moments before. Now he was drinking, watching some stupid cartoon that he didn’t understand.

Nothing could have prepared him for Tord to come in and talk so urgently. Papers in his hands as he fiddled with the hem of his grey tank top, which was already drenched in sweat from the sweltering heat. They really needed to pool funds towards an air conditioner.

At a lack of reply, the Norwegian went on. “We’ve been over this before, and you’ve been in and out of rehab multiple times, but you need to stop drinking. It’s worrying Edd and Matt.” 

_“But not Tord, never Tord.”_ Tom thought bitterly.

“And honestly, I’m tired of pretending I don’t know why.” He threw the papers down, and it made Tom spit out his drink. Despite the heat, he felt cold sweat break out and run down his back. Staring back at him from the table were papers on PTSD, CSA and childhood trauma.

“How could you-” Tom started in a panic, white-knuckling his flask in panic and rising anger.

“You told me. That summer, when we got drunk together, I made the mistake of asking why you were an alcoholic, and you decided in your inebriated state to go into excruciating details, from your father’s death to the priest’s. I can’t even hold it against you because you were drunk, and you probably never told anyone about your trauma before. But you need to see a therapist. I sat here for ten years waiting for you to fucking realize this isn’t healthy, and instead, you retreated in on yourself and drank more. We sent you to rehab so many times, and I thought, ‘hey, well, at least Thomas will get the help he needs’. Instead, you come back and fucking lash out more, hide the drinking better. What? Did you think because Edward and Matthew were gone, I would overlook your problem? Fuck that.”

“No,” Tom stated with finality, staring at Tord with his eyeless gaze. He hoped it would unnerve the other, and when it didn’t, he panicked more, standing up. “You can’t stand here and preach to me to get help! What about you, huh? You’re a porn addict, sadistic fucking asshole who would have no qualms about shooting one of us if it amused you enough!”

“Fine, if you want to play it that way, then I’ll go too.” He snapped back and then stormed over, jabbing his finger into the Brit’s chest hard. “Do you know how fucking hard it is to watch one of your friends ruin themselves over something that happened in the past while fucking preaching that none of it matters? Have you any fucking idea what this has done to me? I don’t want to make this about me because it’s so fucking obvious you need help, and I had fucking stupidly thought you would listen to Edd and Matt, but evidently, you need someone to fucking push you to it, don’t you?” 

“Push me to what? Talk to a stranger about me? Sure, that would go over well. Hey! Shrink, my fucking friend thinks I can benefit from talking to you. What happened? Well, one day, a bear shot my pineapple of a father. One of my childhood friends, Matt, gave him the shotgun, which was a regular occurrence. Why, yes, doctor, I did have a pineapple for a father. No, I’m not insane. Please listen for more. So my bowling ball mother remarries a prick who notices I have no eyes and fucking pushes me to wear glass eyes, which made me bleed and took my sight away. Yes, I can see, you’re staring at me in disbelief and are moving for your phone-”

“That’s enough! Take this seriously! Why does it always have to be a stupid fight with you? Why can’t you admit, for once in your stupid life, that you need help?” Tord was shaking, and he stepped away from Tom in a blatant attempt to contain his anger. “I don’t want to see you suffering and pretending you’re not. I don’t want to get in stupid fights that mean nothing. Tom, please, for god sakes. Go to therapy. It’s not going to magically fix you, but I know someone who will help. I’ve been talking to her, and she seems-”

“You _told_ her?” His voice was icy. As he stepped forward, he clenched his fist, anger rising. 

“No, I told her nothing of what happened to you, just that as a teenager, when I was drinking after fighting with a friend, he revealed to me things that make me sick to my stomach. Things that keep me awake at night, wondering how in the fuck someone could do that to him. She knows you’re unconventional and doesn’t care. She’s asked me if I thought that you could benefit from therapy as well, and I said yes-”

“Wait, you’re going to therapy?” Tom stared, mouth agape, as he tried to process this revelation.

“You can’t join the military without a psychological evaluation, and I happened to fail my initial one, so I’m going through it for my ‘overwhelming violent tendencies’ and ‘apparent lack of regard for other people’s safeties’.” He made air quotes over the words, looking away. “It’s not easy. The first session was unbearable, but I don’t think it’s healthy to be where you’re at right now.”

“So you tried to ultimatum me with something you’re already doing?” He sounded unamused, trying to steer the conversation away from the topic of his own issues.

“No, she doesn’t know about my porn collection. Yet. I’ll bring it up next time if you go, but you have to go, and you have to keep going too. This isn’t a one and done. You have to keep going even if you get worse.”

“Get worse? Why the fuck would I go if it gets worse? That sounds like a dumb fucking idea if you ask me.”

“Recovery isn’t linear. It’s… Well, you know the graphs that fluctuate up and down? It’s like that, a gradual increase over time, and sometimes you’ll seem like you’re going back in progress, but it’s not the end of it. In your case? I think you’ll end up uncovering more traumatic memories if you do it. Most people with trauma tend to repress it, or parts of it, from what I’ve read.” He looked up at him; finally, those green eyes seeming to pierce right through Tom. “It’s not going to be easy, I’m not going to lie. It’s going to be shit, and you’ll find yourself wanting to slip into your bad habits more, that nothing is going to work and fix it, but you need to work through this. Tom, when’s the last time you _felt happy_? Without alcohol. Without drowning out the sorrows and the memories. When is the last time you actually felt put together? You’re falling apart more and more, and making us watch you, is cruel and unjust.”

“Who asked you to wat-”

“We’re your friends, you fucking braindead fuck.” His voice raised more, breaking from the calm and soft voice he had previously, eyes glistening as he shook. “Can’t you believe for once that someone could care about you?”

“Yeah, my girlfriend did-”

“I’m not talking about exes or romance. I mean, just care. Tom, you’re my friend. I care about you. This has been tormenting me for years, to know how you suffered and not being able to do anything about it. I thought of finding your dad and taking his eyes or even fucking blowing up the jail that priest is in. I want to help you, let me. We don’t have to tell Edd or Matt, and I’m not expecting this to be fixed in a day. I know it won’t. Fuck, it could take years, but at least you’ll be trying.”

“And what do you get out of all this? We’ve hated each other for years. You’ve insulted me more than I can fucking count, so what do you want from me?”

“I don’t hate you. We fought, and we fight, but I just want to see you get better. I want to stop sitting in the hospital waiting room with Edd and Matt while you’re too fucking drunk to understand you’re dying and us waiting to hear the news that you finally couldn’t make it.”

Tom stared for a moment before picking up one of the papers and looking it over, “I don’t want you to get your hopes up. This probably won’t last, and I’ll drop out.”

“Then I’ll bug you to go back after you’ve regained common sense.”

“You’re not going to tell them? Really?” His voice was strained, and he felt tears come to his eyes. He never understood what changed that night. Waking up having not remembered a thing truly made him wonder what happened. 

“No, I wouldn’t appreciate it if someone sent me to therapy over my issues and then decided to rat me out to them without my permission. Plus, I’m trying to help you. That would be counterproductive to helping you heal.”

“Alright. Set me up with an appointment, I guess, or are you going to tell me that I already have one.”

“Next Thursday, eight am, when Edd and Matt are asleep, I’ll drive you there, and then we can see a movie or something and make it seem like we both went to work.”

He laughed, knowing the others wouldn’t believe it, but wouldn’t ask questions either if Tom and Tord were going to stop dragging them into volatile fights. Not that the others didn’t fight, it just seemed worse between these two. 

After he calmed down, he sat back onto the couch and patted next to him. He didn’t expect Tord to silently accept but was happy when he did. The show had been long since forgotten as he leaned back into the cushions.

“Tord?”

“Mmm?” The Norwegian’s lack of words wasn’t atypical but jarred Tom after the lengthy conversation.

“Why do you smoke, and you know?” He waved his hand at the end to encompass what he meant.

“I don’t think it’s as good of a reason as you do, but well, stress? I went to college for science, and as a kid, moving between Norway and England multiple times stressed me out. At the same time, I think it had to do with a friend of mine smoking from a young age.” He tapped his knee before looking at the ceiling. “I think it had to do with wanting to rebel as well. My parents were strict, which is why I liked the idea of dying my hair black and all that nonsense a few years back. They wanted me to succeed in school and get a good job like average parents do. As for the violence, no fucking clue. One psychiatrist labelled me as a sociopath at one point.”

“Are you?”

“Dunno. I fit the criteria enough, I guess, except I care for people? I mean, how do you expect me to answer that? Although I found out the term is actually ASPD.”

“And that stands forrr…?”

“Antisocial Personality Disorder. Though if I fit it just on the base level, so do the rest of you fucks.”

Tom laughed again. He couldn’t help it. The way Tord emphasized that with his accent made the situation more bearable for him. “Yeah, I highly doubt we are.”

“No, you’re just a drunk.”

“And you’re a porn addict.” 

“Touché.”

“How long have you been going?”

“A year. I went because of multiple reasons. One of them being insomnia. I went before in college because I was so stressed out from my courses, they made me go.”

“Well, didn’t you overload yourself with courses?”

“I was working towards a Ph.D. in Biomedical Science, a Bachelor’s in Mechanical Engineering, and Iminoring in Military Science.”

“Yeah, but Tord, that wasn’t healthy.”

He snorted. “So says the man who skipped breakfast for Smirnoff. I know it wasn’t, but I didn’t have to continue school for longer than necessary.”

“Mad scientist, probably need to report you to the government for inhuman experiments.”

“Why, how could you, my dear friend.” He faked offence and brought a hand to his chest before shaking his head. 

Getting up, Tord turned to Tom. “Do you want pancakes or bacon and eggs?”

“Uhhh… neither?”

“Pick one. You’re not drinking on an empty stomach.” He crossed his arms.

“Pancakes. You’re like a mother, you know that.”

“Watch it, I’ll slap you with the spatula.” He went into the kitchen.

Tom looked back at the papers in apprehension. It couldn’t be too bad if Tord was doing it, right? He knew next Thursday would be something else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to make things clear, Tord does not have a diagnosis, and it's ambiguous because he could fit the diagnosis if you only go on canon. In this, I based him more on my friend who has a diagnosis.
> 
> Personality Disorders are rarely diagnosed but can be used to cover up other issues, and I have been in the mental health system. I've seen plenty of doctors be fairly ableist with them. In Tord's case, it was to be dismissive of his issues and get it over with. I know this happened to another person I know and me. 
> 
> To those mad at me for making Tord have this reaction, no. Fuck you. Tord's reaction is MY reaction, and I have childhood trauma. It doesn't erase that sometimes people aren't ready to be buried with years of trauma and abuse suddenly at what they think is an innocent question. 
> 
> I will say I can be ignorant about how England's education system works, as I didn't bother to research this before writing it. I know normal college and uni.
> 
> Will there be more? Yes. This is going to be a recovery fic. Unfortunately, it's going to be a _proper_ recovery fic.
> 
> The idea came from discussing topics with Drake, aka [ @The_Resurrection_3D](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Resurrection_3D/pseuds/The_Resurrection_3D) who agreed with me that Trauma was weirdly loved, but there was a sense of unrealism with recovery.
> 
> Coming out of not wanting a happy ending for a fic and how trauma works, I jokingly said that I should make this fic even with possible backlash. 
> 
> I realized that Tom needs to recover, and he wouldn't go on his own, but Tord could press the issue.
> 
> "B-but therapy won't work if Tom isn't willing". He is. Otherwise, there'd be a fistfight. 
> 
> "Tord is a bad person for forcing this." Sometimes someone needs a strong hand letting them know they require help. Not everyone will sit there and come to that conclusion on their own, and I referenced this in the text.
> 
> Honestly, this is also cathartic for me. I've been in the system, and while my therapist was shit, I learned enough to know where to go on my own two feet for a while.
> 
> So essentially, expect this fic to be a slow recovery as Tom works through his trauma. Nightmares, lashing out, breakdowns, possibly more fucked up shit to come. 
> 
> Oh, and don't expect the ending to be "happy." Tom's not going to live happily ever after in the end. But he will recover and get to a better place. 
> 
> Lemme know if you want a sister series about how Tord sees all this btw, and don't be afraid to leave a comment.


	2. Travel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the day of the appointment, and tensions are high. Tord wakes Tom up early and picks up a friend.
> 
> -
> 
> A look into the fractured friendship Tom and Tord have, and introducing a new character.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on a caffeine and sugar high right now. I'm bouncy.
> 
> This chapter is a filler and necessary to show that they're not better friends after one talk.
> 
> So without further ado.

“Tom.” Knock knock. “Thomas. We need to go.” Tord’s voice came in through the door, eliciting a groan from the Brit.

“Ugh… It’s six in the morning. There’s no way it’s going to take two hours to get to the appointment.”

“No, but I have shit to do. Come on, hurry up and get dressed. I have coffee on the go.”

“Fuck. Fine.” Crawling out of bed, he stumbled to his closet and began to pull on his clothes. 

Each step to the kitchen felt like hell, and he wordlessly took the mug offered to him. 

“Try not to take too long. We need to leave soon.” Tord checked his phone and frowned, typing on it quickly before putting it facedown on the counter and washing his own mug.

Letting out a yawn, the Brit stretched and popped his back. “Mmm, tell me why I couldn’t wait for you to get back?”

“Because you’d be late. I’d let you know sooner, but I got the phone call early this morning that a friend needed a ride into work.”

“He should take a bus or ride with his coworkers,” Tom grumbled and downed the rest of his coffee. “Hey, don’t take that from me.”

“No drinking today. At least not this morning. I’ll hang onto this for now.” Tord walked towards the front door, “come on. I really don’t have the time to wait up.”

“Yeah, well, not my fault.” He jogged to keep up, locking the door behind him.

“Of course not, but I’m not in the mood.” Tord gave him a pointed look as they got in the car. “Seatbelt. Here’s your flask, so I don’t get in trouble for driving under the influence.” His grip was tight. “Don’t try and sneak a drink.”

“What crawled up your ass and died?”

“Nicotine withdrawals. So, before murdering you becomes a wonderful option, try not to be a pain in the ass.”

“Okay, wow. Trying to quit?”

“No, strapped for cash, what about it?”

“Well, usually you have cigars as a backup, or you seem to materialize them out of nowhere.”

“Yeah, well, that materialization is spotting from a friend. The same one we’re picking up, actually.”

“Spotting?”

“Yes, sometimes I have someone buy a pack for me. I’ve been saving for a car, you know this, so I’ve had it hard with paying my share of bills and food, supplies for projects and saving.”

“Why don’t you just sell one of your guns.”

“Because it’s illegal to most of them, I don’t have a licence to sell, and I happen to think they’re necessary.”

“Yeah, for what?”

“Self defence. Have you seen the bullshit we get pulled into?”

“Tord, you brought these guns into a paintball match and killed five guys.”

“We’re not talking about that.”

“Alright, fine. How did you sleep?”

“I slept fine when I went to bed at fifteen after five am and woke up at five-thirty.”

“Wait, what?”

“I’m an insomniac, Tom. Sometimes I don’t sleep. Which is why the radio is off so I can focus on the road, and no, we’re not going to crash.”

“Um, right.” 

The silence that fell was unnerving.

“So, what’s your friend like?”

“Alright. He’s an artist like Edd, though I think he has a different job. All of us went to the same school, but Paul didn’t hang out with us. He’s a mutual friend of Edd and myself. Chronic smoker. He reminds me of you.”

“What, an alcoholic?”

“Don’t sound so bitter. I meant the dark attitude. You both brood and seem lazy. I know your reason for it, somewhat, but not quite his.”

“His name’s Paul?”

“You go by Tom, and our friend is Matt.”

“Jeez, okay, I get it.” Tom looked out the window as they pulled up to a house. Reaching into his pocket for his flask. “Wait- hey!”

“I’m not letting you have this. Wait here, and try and not wreck anything. Edd’s threatened to take all the bacon for a week if we don’t get along this morning.”

Tom glared as Tord walked over to a man. He looked him over, trying to remember who the dude was. He was on the larger side, like Edd. Tall and filled out. Unlike Edd, this man had stubble and the most prominent eyebrows Tom had ever seen. It made him snicker a little to watch one of them go up questioningly. Tord had motioned to the bag, and they seemed to have a small argument before Tord took a cigarette and lighter from the man. They both came back to the car.

“Thomas, Paul, Paul, meet the pain in the ass.”

“Thanks, asshole,” Tom grumbled under his breath as he looked over his shoulder, Paul, who was chewing the end of a bent cigarette.

“Tord…” The man’s voice was gruff, more fitting of how Tom imagined a chronic smoker would sound.

“Relax, Paul, it’s okay. I need to take him somewhere. I told you this over the phone, if you don’t like it, don’t call me last minute and get a ride with Pat next time.”

“Rather go with Yuu.”

“Then why didn’t you call him?”

Tom stared between them in confusion. 

Tord rubbed his right temple, refusing to take both hands off the wheel. “Yuu is one of his co-workers.”

“He’s on night shift. I’m on day.”

Tord muttered something under his breath.

“Anyways, I get paid tomorrow. I’ll pay you back then.”

“You better. I don’t like being out eighteen pounds.”

Tom frowned when he noticed there was a field. He didn’t want to participate anymore, so he slipped in some earbuds. No doubt started playing in his ears as Tord and Paul continued to talk. He closed his eyes and decided to take a nap.

He was suddenly woken up to the sound of a door slam and rubbed his eyes.

“Fuck!”

“I suppose your sleep wasn’t better, did the nap help?”

“Yeah. Everything okay?”

“I’m fine. Paul’s just rough with the door.” 

“Any reason we dropped him off in the middle of nowhere?”

“There’s a path in the forest to his workplace. It’s quicker for me to drop him off there than us getting hassled at the front gate.”

“Is he a security guard?”

“Don’t know. I don’t ask much.”

“You seemingly don’t want to talk to me this morning.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Your answers are short, to the point and make it hard to talk. I’m going to therapy, so I don’t know why you’re so pissy at me.”

“It’s not that, Thomas. It’s just… stress. Hard to deal with one hundred problems at once, and having no smokes was worse.”

“So why didn’t you just like, I don’t know, tell me?”

“Because we don’t have a good relationship, you’re overwhelmed as it is with your issues, and I know you didn’t get much sleep last night because I could hear you tuning your bass last night.”

“So, if we’re not friends, why the fuck are you making me get therapy?”

“Because we used to be at one point, and then you started being an asshole suddenly. We live together, and while it might seem like it, I do give a shit, as you say. I also have a therapist to talk about my issues with, and frankly don’t want to talk about them while running on caffeine.”

“Right. Fine.” 

Tord let out a sigh. “Tom, I don’t want to push my problems on you. You’re stressed. There’s a lot on your plate, and I don’t want to add to that.”

“If you’re going to tell me your problems don’t matter, I’m going to hit you.”

“I got over that when I was twenty-two, Tom. No, instead, I think you don’t need to be stressed about more problems. Plus, we’re not on the level where I feel comfortable sharing my secrets.”

“Does it have to do with this secret friend group of yours?”

“They’re not secret. I didn’t know you needed an update on all my friends.”

“I don’t, but you never spoke of them.”

“Because every time we talk, we end up in a screaming match about how much we hate each other and sometimes, it even escalates to violence. So, forgive me if I’m not willing to share intimate details of my life with someone who takes time in his week to try and make me feel like shit.”

“And so this is supposed to make you feel better?”

“No, this is supposed to help you cope with your god awful childhood and maybe be able to cope with it in a way that doesn’t lead to me watching you half-dead in a hospital bed, knowing why you got there.”

Tom didn’t have a response. He didn’t want to tell him it wasn’t any of his business. A part of him wished he was with anyone else right now, instead of Tord. It was apparent this was a wrong decision.

When they stopped, Tord gently grabbed Tom’s arm and handed him back his flask. “I’m sorry. Just text me when you’re done, and I’ll take a break to come to pick you up.”

“Whatever.”

“No, really. I am sorry. It might not seem like it, but I’m stressed. Look, if you want to know what’s stressing me out, I can tell you later or something. I want to try and be your support through this, but it’s hard. We don’t have a good relationship, and you hate me so much, so I am trying. I’m not doing well, but I want to try. So please, when you’re done and want to be picked up, can you text me? I’ll head right over, and then we can go home.”

He frowned and stared at him before looking at the sleek building and then back. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“For what it’s worth, you are a friend, albeit an asshole at the same time.”

“Yeah, sure. Go to work.” He closed the door and made his way to the office, anxiousness settling into him as he walked in.

The receptionist caught him and stared a little too long. “Name, sir?”

“Thomas Thompson.” He pulled out his identification to show him.

“First door on your left. Miss Grant is waiting for you.” 

Tom went to the door and held his hand over it before walking in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't a strong chapter, and to be fair, Tom being tired as fuck is what I'll blame it on.
> 
> Yeah, Paul makes an appearance. It's a small event, and this series is as canon-compliant as I can make it.
> 
> Tom and Tord fighting and being on edge are going to be a theme here. There is no fixing years of issues after one conversation, and both of them are high-strung.
> 
> The next chapter is probably coming tonight since I'm feeling like writing more. I want to get into the therapy session most of all, and I want to show how uncomfortable an experience it's going to be.
> 
> I'm also thinking of making another two stories where we focus on Tord's issues and such.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom's first therapy session seems to go off without a hitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this seems weird to anyone who has been in therapy, I am basing Tom's experiences off mine. Somewhat.

Tom didn’t know what he was expecting. Maybe an old lady with small glasses and a notebook, in a sleek office that felt like he would be dissected. Or perhaps a woman wearing a lab coat.

He didn’t expect a young lady sitting at a desk to the side of the office in a sundress, with her hair cut into a bob.

“Oh, you must be Tom. Welcome, take a seat.”

Her office was modern, but with a beanbag chair and two armchairs. There were various objects in the room, and it looked more like a lounge or living room. Tom decide on the armchair, leaning forward in it.

She got up from the desk and sat across from him. “I’m glad you showed up. I haven’t been told much, just that you struggle with alcoholism and that your friend is worried for you.”

“You haven’t?” He raised an eyebrow, expecting her to know everything about him by now.

“No, your friend makes it a point that he didn’t want to share anything about you in his sessions. Before we get into things, though, I need you to sign some papers, agreeing that I can talk to your General Physician and agreeing that I can take notes of our sessions. I will not be sharing what is told outside this room without you signing a release form, and if you ever want to cancel with me, that’s fine.”

“You don’t think I’m blind?”

“Mister Thompson, you knew exactly where to sit, and you looked at me and around the room. Correct me if I’m wrong, but that seems like you can see.”

“Tord told you.”

“I was informed you’re different than the average person but that you were not lying about these things, but no, Tord did not tell me.”

Tom signed the papers before sliding them back to her. “So what do we even do? I got thrown into this with no information.”

“Well, first, we discuss the issues you might be having or feeling, and then we decide what we want to tackle first. After that, I will give you homework to do outside of the sessions to help you cope with these issues. If problems arise, you’ll have my email to contact me at any time.”

He rubbed the back of his neck and looked at anywhere but her. Tom wondered if this was a good idea. “Depression, I guess. I’m an alcoholic, and I have trauma from childhood.”

“I see. You don’t seem very certain.”

“Tord told me to come here, saying he was tired of seeing me drink myself nearly to death and that I needed help.”

“Then wouldn’t rehab help?”

“Yeah, if I didn’t go three or four times. No, most of this stems from the shit that happened to me as a kid.”

“And are you ready to open up about what happened?”

“I already did. I got drunk and dumped it on Tord.”

“That’s not what I mean. Are you prepared to share this with me? I won’t make you talk about anything you’re not ready for yet.”

“I mean… I doubt I’m ever going to be ready.”

“Why is that?”

“Because why would I trust you?”

“I am here to help. It’s my job to listen and help you through your issues, Tom. Or would you prefer Mister Thompson?”

“Call me, Tom, please. I hate formalities.”

“You can call me Erica if you wish.”

“Isn’t that too informal?”

“Your comfort matters most here. If you feel more comfortable calling me by my first name, that’s fine by me. As I said, my job is to help you.”

“Right. You’re not going to pull out a pocket watch, are you?”

“I’m not a hypnotherapist, Tom.”

“Right, what kind are you?”

“I specialize in addictions, personality disorders, childhood trauma and post-traumatic stress disorder.”

Tom frowned. “So why does Tord see you?”

“That’s confidential. You would have to ask Tord.”

“Right. Okay. So you specialize in exactly what I need, why is that?”

“Well, there are times all of these issues overlap and conflict with each other. Though that doesn’t mean I have patients who don’t fit outside my expertise, in which case I look through my textbooks and do research on their issues.”

Tom nodded. This made no sense to him, but he supposed if she could help, then what did it matter.

“Do you have any other questions?”

“Oh, yeah. Tord told me that I’d sometimes feel like it wasn’t working and feel worse when getting better, which was normal. Is that true?”

“Yes.” She picked up a blank sheet of paper and the pen, leaning over to draw a wave slowly climbing up. “This is how recovery looks. Each of these dips is when your mental health is at it’s lowest. The peaks are when you feel like you’re all better. Even if you feel cured or better, I would recommend continuing to see me at the same rate. Eventually, you might only need to see me once or twice a year, and when something substantial happens.”

“Okay, I get that. How would I feel cured?”

“Like you’re not depressed anymore, or nothing from your childhood affects you. It’s a feeling that can vary from person to person. As time goes on, the dips should get further apart.”

“Is there no cure then?”

“Not really. You can minimize the impact and even stop experiencing the negative emotions, but you’ll always have the trauma, and the addiction could come back. Even depressed people can experience years of happiness before hitting a low again. My job is to help you manage these issues and cope with them as they occur.”

“And what, talking solves everything?”

“If talking solved everything, I wouldn’t have had to go to school. No. You’ll be given tasks to do between sessions and see how they help.”

“And what are these tasks.”

“They could be to fill out a worksheet every day for a week or do a specific task daily. I could ask you to write a letter and tear it up. It will depend on your issues and what you think will help.”

“And medications?”

“I’m not authorized to prescribe medication, but if you feel you need any, I can see about getting in contact with a psychiatrist.”

“What if I want to talk with you and another person.”

“They would need to sign a confidentiality form, and you would need to sign a permission form. If that happens, then we’ll allow you to bring them in.”

“Okay. I think I get it.”

“Alright. If that’s all the questions you have, can I ask a few of my own?”

“Sure.” 

“How much do you drink in a typical week?”

“Uh… If I can get away with it, three or four bottles a day. Typically I’m limited to sneaking one.”

“Do you have any alcohol on you?”

“I have a flask in my pocket.”

“Did you have anything to drink yet, today?”

“No, every time I tried, Tord took it away from me.”

“Does that occur often?”

“No, usually he just admonishes me for it and tells Edd or Matt.”

“Did this behaviour make you uncomfortable?”

 _Yes!_ “Uh well… I’m not sure.”

“You’re not sure?”

“He said he would help support me through this, so it’s not a big deal, I guess?”

“Yes, but how did it make you feel?”

“Awkward. Angry.”

“Why do you think you felt that way?”

“Because he’s usually a prick, I don’t get why he’s doing this. I figured he’d be happy if I died.”

“Do you usually not get along?”

“No, we fight, often.”

“How so?”

“Usually with words, until we’re broken up, or someone throws a punch.”

“And does it get physical often?”

“It used to when we were kids. Tord and I had a falling out in high school during one of his visits, and we just couldn’t stop fighting. Sometimes it led to drinking and talking.”

“You drank as a child?”

“As a teenager. Decided I wanted to stop being the good kid.”

“And Tord, he drank too?”

“Yes. Usually only with me.”

“He never drank otherwise?”

“I don’t know… Is that important?”

“Is it? I’m trying to understand your relationship with him. Anything you can tell me might help.”

“Yeah, I don’t know. I never paid attention to what he did.”

“Is that part of your falling out?”

“No, I just never really paid attention to any of them. I had bigger issues on my plate, like making rent and finishing school.”

“Making rent?”

“I left home when I was still a kid. Someone hooked me up with a place, and I got a part-time job.”

“That must have been hard.”

“It was easy compared to before. But it left me with less time on my hands. Anything else?”

“What made you decide you want to leave your home?”

He frowned and shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Then we don’t have to. Is there anything else on your mind?”

“Am I a bad person for dumping this shit on Tord?”

“Are you… No, Tom, you’re not. It’s a common occurrence for trauma victims to overshare their trauma, and as a result, overstep boundaries. It doesn’t make you a bad person.”

“But it hurt him. Clearly, he said it did, anyway.”

“Was it your intention to hurt him?”

“No, I was blackout drunk, and he asked about it.”

“Then it wasn’t purposeful. You hurt him, but you didn’t mean to do so.”

“How do I get him to understand that?”

“Does he not?”

“Well, he’s all pissed off and upset about it.”

“And you think he doesn’t understand that you didn’t want to hurt him?”

“Yes! Why would I want to hurt him by using that shit? I’d punch him instead.”

“Do you think maybe that mindset might be why you see it this way?”

“What mindset?”

“The one that turns to exactly how you would hurt him if you were going to. You said you and Tord had a falling out and that you feel like he thinks you purposely did that to hurt him.”

“I don’t think, I know.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because it’s Tord, of course, that’s what he thinks.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“No, but-”

“If he didn’t tell you, and you ignore him as you say, then perhaps you’re making an assumption.”

“Oh. And what do you think then?”

“I’m not allowed to share my thoughts. However, can I suggest talking to Tord about this and how you feel?”

“What would be the point?”

“Do you want to try and make up for what happened?”

“I mean… Yeah. It’s pretty shitty to have done that. It fucked him up.”

“Communication is the first step in any relationship, platonic or otherwise. You can’t have a healthy relationship without it.”

“But we always fight!”

“And how do these fights usually start?”

“One of us is pissed off and usually says an insult.”

“Have you tried walking away from the situation?”

“No, I don’t want him to win!”

“Win what?”

“...” He chewed on his lip and looked away again.

“Tom, I believe what I’m hearing is that you and Tord have an antagonistic relationship, where you need to win fights. Your relationship feeds off of the anger you experience until it gets violent, with words or physically. This is seemingly a common occurrence since you were a teenager. Do I have it right?”

“Yeah. But you probably knew that.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You talk to him too! He probably told you all of this!”

“No, Tom, I am not bringing what he told me into this session. This is about you and how you see things.”

“Then why did you suggest that?”

“You want to make it up to him over springing your trauma onto him when drunk, yes?”

“Yeah, and?”

“Then, first, you will probably want to establish a friendly relationship.”

“Only he’s not going to want that.”

“Why is that?”

“Because he’s… him.”

“Tom, often we try and assign feelings and thoughts to other people to cope with our own. This leads to assuming someone has a similar mindset to ours. That way, we can rationalize their actions.”

“Well, why wouldn’t that be good?”

“Because every individual is different. Everyone has their reasons for doing things. That’s why communication is important.”

“So if I communicate, it’ll fix everything?”

“No. A relationship needs work, give and take, with communication, to work. Both sides need to be willing to work through it. But if you’re willing to try, Tord might try with you.”

“I don’t think so. I think it’s the other way around.”

“And why is that?”

“Is that all you’re going to do? Ask me questions?”

“I’m helping you look into your problems and figuring them out, so I can help. Does it bother you when I ask questions?”

“You’re annoying.”

“Does that mean you won’t want to see me again next week?”

“Next week?”

“Yes, we’ve run out of time, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, well… uh… I mean, I said I’d try. So expect me back here next week.”

“Alright, make an appointment with the secretary, and I’ll see you next week.”

“Um… You’re not going to give me an assignment?”

“Do you want one?”

“Well… Maybe. It’s supposed to help, yeah?”

“It can.”

“So yeah, an assignment.”

“Alright. Try and have a conversation with Tord without fighting and see where that leads.”

“And.. I just do that, and what?”

“Well, then you tell me how it went and how it made you feel.”

“I’ve noticed why, feel and how come are used often.”

“It’s because therapy works through your feelings to find solutions to your problems and work through your feelings.”

“Sounds scary.”

“What does?”

“Working through my feelings, I guess. Wait. How are you going to know any of this? You didn’t write it down.”

“I intended to write it down after you left. Would you prefer I did it in session next time?”

“No, I don’t want to feel like a lab experiment.”

“Have a good day, Tom.”

“Uh, yeah. You too.”

Tom left the room, feeling awkward and weird. He wondered if Tord felt the same way. He didn’t know why he went on talking like he did. It was just easy for him. When he got the next appointment at the same time, he went outside and had a drink from his flask. Not a lot, but enough to tide him over until he got his hands on a bottle. Part of him was dreading how quitting was going to feel.

Taking out his phone, he stared at the time. Two hours. Apparently, it was normal for the first session to be long.

_”Hey Im finished come pick me up”_

_”Have you heard of punctuation. At all?”_

_”Yeah and so I dont care get used to it just come get me Tord”_

_”Thomas. English is my second language. I have to read your texts slowly out loud.”_

_”But youre so good at it how does that work”_

_”I come from Norway. I spend a good portion of my life in Norway.”_

_”Does that mean you think in Norwegian too”_

I’m coming over to pick you up.”

Tom put his phone away after the last text, wondering if he was bothering Tord by doing this, and then shaking his head. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first session, and basically nothing got done! This is not an uncommon experience. Usually, it's about getting to know each other and such. Some people who are quick to talk about themselves and their issues will open up faster.
> 
> Tom's concerned about Tord seeing her since he doesn't think Tord would want to quit smoking.
> 
> And Tom's texting isn't as obnoxious as I make Matt's and Edd's.


End file.
